


Masky Vs. The Puppeteer

by Laughing_Fox



Series: Creepypasta fights [6]
Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marble Hornets
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Death, Gen, Violence, fight, lil bit of torture i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Fox/pseuds/Laughing_Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A battle to the death between both the well-known Creepypasta: The Puppeteer and Marble Hornets' Masky. Who will win? //Contains violence and gore\\</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masky Vs. The Puppeteer

The masked Proxy held a knife close to his chest, as he crept along the side of the school building, his set victim was one of the thirty-four students left on campus over the Christmas holidays, the rest having already left to visit family on their holiday, or gone away simply to escape the stresses of college.

The snow-fall was unexpectedly heavy, proving to be a saving grace for the Proxy as it filled in the deep foot-steps that his heavy boots left in the crisp snow behind him.

Alicia Smith.

Alicia Smith was a 21 year-old college student studying a course in criminology and had been spied drifting much too close to The Slenderman and his Proxies over the past few months, always spotted drifting in an almost dazed state through the nearby forest before leaving just as soon as she’d came, always with a tattered notebook of some kind.

Masky had been tasked with following her movements for the past three weeks, and he had kept that task at the top of his priorities, never once taking his eye off of her location, resulting in a lonely three weeks for him, a lack of contact with his fellow Proxies slowly eating away at him and causing a hollow feeling of loneliness to begin burrowing its way into his fragile psyche.

Reaching the apartment door, he placed his cold hand on the even colder handle, the gun by his waist having to be left in its position so as to not bring suspicion to himself when he was to finally kill the girl.

Pushing open the door, he shivered as a frigid wind swept through after him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he silently pushed the door closed, snow drifting off of him and melting quickly onto the hardwood floor in front of the stairs.

He knew for a fact that the girl was the only person in this entire block and hence, would be an easy target, but he still made sure to remain cautious, silently slipping up the first set of 13 stairs, on his way up to her room on the third floor. Her room was second door to the left of the stairs, and last in the short hallway of four.

Reaching the second story landing, he stopped, an unexpected heavy sense of dread rushing through him as his eyes landed on a single, thin glimmer of light shining through from underneath his target’s door.

Quietly rushing up the remaining stairs, he stopped to stand in front of the door, the warm, golden light washing over his ankles.

Not a sound was to be heard from within the room save from the occasional splashing of water.

Placing his hand against the wood of the door, the Proxy pulled out a pair of small files, using them as a make-shift lock-pick before finding that the door was already unlocked.

Suspicion now raised through the roof, Masky hesitantly stepped in through the doorframe, the light of the living room flooding out of the door and into the hallway behind him as he flung the door open, eyes wide at the sight of his target, hanging three feet off of the ground with what could clearly be seen as her own intestines were wrapped tightly around her neck attaching her to the ceiling fan, her arms were precisely ripped to shreds, thin slivers of muscle and tendon hung down from various gashes in her body, as if they’d been methodically tugged out of the cover of her skin and used as this ropes to manually control her body.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her purple and blue blotched, oxygen deprived, face and the odd bulge in her neck where the vertebrae had protruded from the skin. He allowed his eyes to trail down, immediately regretting the decision to see that her stomach had been ripped open, ribs protruding violently, some snapped and pointed in wrong angles. What organs hadn’t been used to secure her limp body to the roof by her throat lay in a grotesque pile of red mess beneath her body, staining the carpet around her for meters.

Unsure of how to react to thins discovery, Masky simply found himself shaking his head as a tremor ran through his body, his eyes finally leaving the corpse of the girl and falling on the un-curtained window behind her, Masky’s three-week-perch was well hidden, but still visible to him as he looked out of the window, his stomach plummeted as his brain tried to comprehend the scene in front of him.

He’d been watching the girl move around- alive – less than 10 minutes ago.

Slowly stepping backwards, he suddenly regretted taking the solo mission, his hand flying to his gun in an attempt to calm himself.

And it worked.

Until a voice spoke up behind him.

"You're alone here, aren’t you?" The voice was comparable to that of a broken radio, a quiet crackling and an almost wheezing-like quality coated his words thickly.

Turning slowly on his heel, Masky faced the man who now stood in the door way, golden, glowing eyes meeting his own dark ones as the sights of his gun immediately found their way to the thing’s forehead, its similarly glowing mouth stretched into a wide smile as he tilted his head, his long, unkempt black hair falling over his face as he stood, un-moving in the doorway.

“What are you?” The Proxy whispered, dismembered corpse hanging from the ceiling behind him still swaying with sickening grace, the quiet creaking of the fan behind him the only sound in the still room.

He didn’t get a response, but then again, he wasn’t really expecting one.

His hands were clamped tightly around his gun, but his finger refused to pull the trigger, a pain shooting up his arm rendering it immobile as a thin, yellow string shot up from the other’s hand and clenched around his finger, wrenching it back.

Grinning at the human as he bared his teeth in pain, the entity, otherwise known as The Puppeteer walked forward, raising a hand and placing it atop the gun, pushing the weapon down as the tips of his fingers began to glow a golden hue, thin, golden-orange strings beginning to crawl up Masky’s arms.

Pulling back sharply, the brunette gripped the glowing strings with his left hand and tugged them harshly towards himself, catching the Puppeteer off guard as he threw a punch at his jaw.

Shock rippled through Masky as his attack swung straight through the dark being, stumbling to find that he’d passed right through him, only the choked gasp from behind him signifying that the Puppeteer was in fact, still there, and wasn’t a figment of the brunette’s sleep deprived imagination.

As he pivoted to face the back of his attacker once more, he found the strings still clasped in his hand were writhing and twitching, working their way higher and tighter around his arm.

Jerking his arm back, the Proxy found himself walking backwards out of the room, the searing pain from the phantom strings biting into his arm before they crawled over his shoulder, stopping at the base of his neck.

Frantic to escape the binds, the brunette forced his finger back to the trigger, squeezing it and firing of a shoot and watching with dismay as it passed straight through the other’s chest before embedding itself in what was left of the torso of the hanging carcass.

The Puppeteer remained silent as he raised his other hand, more strings flickering into existence before shooting forward and latching themselves around Masky’s torso, tugging him back into the room, despite his rather dazed struggle. The cords tightening around his chest were seemingly burning into his flesh, constricting his breathing and crushing his ribcage as he was pulled to stand in front of The Puppeteer, left almost helpless to watch as the entity’s long, almost claw-like nails raked down his left forearm, a trail of blood following as the flesh was slowly torn apart.  
As the pain made its way into his groggy mind, the wide-eyed Masky lurched backwards harshly, tugging away from The Puppeteer and just barely escaping the binds before they enclosed around his throat.

Pulling back out the knife that he had entered with, he hacked at the offending ropes as they squirmed about, desperately trying to cling back onto him.

With several sharp slashes and various twists and dodges, the Proxy found himself stumbling out of the dorm room, his left arm bleeding heavily and his senses dulled.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, he turned back as the entity behind him let out something akin to a screech, the glowing thread from his index and middle left fingers having been torn to shreds by the Proxy’s knife.

Shaking his head in aims to think more clearly, the brunette pocketed the knife before scrambling down the three flights of stairs, stumbling and tripping down several before catching his foot at the top of the second floor and heavily crashing into the banisher, the old wood splintering under the sheer force as golden strings came flying down the staircase, wrapping themselves around the masked brunette’s ankles as the banister gave way completely, leaving an empty space and a several foot drop behind him.

Without so much as having the chance to scream, his fall was stopped short as a tearing pain clawed at his legs due to the burning marionette cords digging into his flesh.

Feeling the blood rush immediately to his head, Masky forced down the urge to hurl, his vision blacking out as a mixture of bile and blood rushed up his throat.

Now at the complete mercy of The Puppeteer as he scrambled to find any sort of purchase around him, the proxy cursed heavily as both his knife and gun clattered loudly against the tiled floor meters below.

The hoarse laughter of the entity above him went almost unheard as the feeling of air rapidly raising up to meet his back overwhelmed all other thoughts, the golden ropes that he had dreaded he now missed in that moment as he plummeted to the ground.

Deciding he’d like to play with his new puppet for a moment longer, The Puppeteer seemingly dissipated into thin air, reappearing two floors below with his strings flailing wildly with something akin to excitement, wrapping tightly around the Proxy’s chest, arms, legs and stomach, slowing him to an almost gentle halt and placing him, feet first, on the ground.

Ignoring the glare from the masked male in front of him, The Puppeteer allowed the strings to tighten harshly, earning a pleasing whimper as blood began to trickle down from the cuts it etched into the Proxy’s body.  
Walking forward slowly, The Puppeteer cupped a hand under the other’s chin, tilting his head carefully from side-to-side before trailing his nails down his left arm and retracing the cut he had carved earlier, and watching the blood continue to flow freely.

With his hand still lingering under the other’s chin, he slid his opaque hand down and clasped a hold around the brunette’s -already bruising- throat, relishing the sharp gasp and the minor tremors that racked through his victim’s body as his hold tightened.  
Stepping forward, The Puppeteer slammed the Proxy into the section of wall beneath the stairs with a static-y chuckle.

Feeling his body begin to go limp as black spots danced across his vision, Masky, struggled for breath, everything in his body pained as his muscles twitched and spasmed, its oxygen deprived state amplifying the pain that every movement caused him.

“You poor, poor creature.”

The words barely had time to register in his mind as fingers danced across the vertebrae in his neck.  
The snapping of bone was preceded only by silence.

**Author's Note:**

> **ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR OWNERS. I TAKE NO CREDIT FOR THEIR DESIGNS OR STORIES**
> 
> \--New fights every week--  
> (Kinda. Maybe)
> 
> Please don't get all pissy if who you wanted to win didn't.


End file.
